Turning Point

In Gaining, she also speaks of a 'turning point' . The point that everyone hits, usually when they are least expecting it, when they aren't looking for it, and just at the right moment when they're suddenly ready for it. Something happens, some switch in your mind is flipped, and you conclude that you are "Sick of being sick".

I can pinpoint that moment in my life. It was December 21, 2009. The Morning After. The night before, after feeling like I'd eaten too much, I took a handful of little pink pills that promised to prove "gentle, overnight relief". It was 4am, and I was awoken from a deep sleep, by such an intense pain in my abdomen, I was sure that I was dying. Needless to say, I spent the next hour in the bathroom shaking and experiencing not so gentle, overnight relief. My body was empty. Completely void of anything in my stomach, or bowels. I was dehydrated from the water pills I'd taken the day before, and probably the alcohol I'd consumed the previous night. When I woke up the next morning, I carefully peeled off my pajamas and stepped onto the scale, shivering as the cold air hit my body. I moved my toes to cover up the tiny LED screen on my scale and waited.

112.5

I should be overjoyed. I should be excited. I should be dancing with delight that my 'goal weight' was now less than 5 lbs away. Instead my heart sank to the deepest pit of my stomach. My knees nearly gave out beneath me, and I crumpled to the floor in front of my mirror. I stared at my body in disbelief. There was no way, with the amount of fat I saw in the mirror that I was 112. And if I was this size and less than 5 lbs away from my goal weight, I knew, deep down, that losing another few pounds wasn't going to make everything okay. It wasn't going to suddenly make me feel small. It wasn't going to be enough to make me disappear. It wasn't going to be enough to make my heart stop being broken, or make me feel something or nothing at all. It wasn't going to fix everything.

I took out my phone, and took pictures of my body. My legs, my arms, my stomach, my ribs, my hips, my chest, my collarbones. Different angles, different positions, sucking in, relaxing, feet together, arms spread out. I posted them on livejournal, to let my eating disordered friends see. When I looked at them, I didn't see my rib cage, my clavical or chest bones, I didn't see my hip bones pushing out against my underwear, the space between my thighs. I saw fat. I saw the 200 pound Amy staring right back at me. I saw a dying expression on my face. I saw the life disappearing my eyes. And it scared me.

This was my turning point. When I got scared, because my legs wouldn't support me. Its become hard to climb the three steps into my house, I clutch the railing and pull myself up them. When I couldn't lift boxes at work because I had no strength in my arms. When I was afraid I'd drop the baby I nanny for, because I didn't think I could lift his 14 pound body. When I got out of breath walking from the front of Michaels, to the office in the back. When it literally caused my legs to shake going for a walk around Shelby Park in the snow. My feet are never warm, I always wear two pairs of socks. My hands are always cold, and there is no color in my nails. My hair is thin and limp. I don't remember the last time I had my period, but I know it was months ago. This was my turning point. When I realized I was killing myself, and destroying my body.

While I never reached, an extremely low weight, I am beginning to notice the damage I've done to my body. And it scares me. It scares me that it may be irreversible. That maybe I've worn my muscles to nothing. That starving my body for so long, has caused loss of actual muscle. That my bones are aged and feel brittle. Or that my lack of nutrition has caused my periods to disappear, which could cause trouble in reproducing, should I chose to, in the future. Because, while I didn't hit a 'scary' low weight, I starved long enough to lose a significant amount of weight.

Which brings me to my next revelation: You don't have to be under one hundred pounds to have an eating disorder.